Getting there, and Doing the Job

I've spoken about it before, I know, but one of the delights of this work is the variety - in particular, the variety of reactions I get to my arrival.  At one extreme is the problem of finding a destination, such as on Monday evening this week, when looking for a factory in Chelmsford.  I had the address, I even had the phone no. (... but there was no reply when I called it for directions,) but I couldn't find the place.  Next along the spectrum is the late arrival, having just made it before closing time, with lots of stuff, which almost guarantees a grudging reception, often accompanied by swearing.  Then there's the reaction to the goods themselves, which can be anything from a puzzled, 'what's he sent me that for?' to two I encountered this week, that are described below.

The road in Chelmsford was a simple T-shaped cul-de-sac; on one side was a factory, and then a warehouse set back behind its yard, while on the other were two similar factory units, all of which were clearly labelled with a name other than the one I sought.  Across the road, along the long top-edge of the T, were four more such places large and small, none of which were of interest to me.  At one end was the blank wall of the property in the adjacent close, and at the other were two small businesses, neither of which was the one I was aiming for.  I rang the controller, who brought up the website of the company I was delivering to, and described to me the map there.  It bore no relationship to the road in which I now found myself, and to prove it, I drove up and down once more, describing to him the various properties I passed.  My colleague patiently waited - whether listening or watching his TV, I know not - until I came to the end.

"... and next to that," I said, "there's a narrow passage ... Hey! that's it! - I'll call you back if I have any further problems."  I drove down the passage into a small courtyard in front of the business I was looking for.  The light was poor, and the name small, and high on the wall.  It could only be seen when I was actually at the mouth of the passage.  A car and a van were outside, and much more important, a light could be seen at the window.  The reception door was locked, but on the opposite side of that protruding block was one that opened, and I entered to the factory building.  In response to my 'hello' two faces appeared from behind a large machine.  One was an engineer, the driver of the van outside, who had called to do some repairs, and was preparing to leave, his work done.  The other was the sole operator on the night shift, who explained, 'you were lucky Jim was here - I usually lock the door behind me once I'm inside.'  We had a joint moan about left hand and right hand being mutually incommunicative, he unloaded my goods, and as I left I regaled my controller with all these tidings.  He undertook to complain to the sender on the morrow, making him well aware how closely he'd come to a re-delivery charge.

Almost by contrast, the next day was positively joyful.  I found myself in the Bristol area, delivering identical electronic equipment to a number of charity shops.  The situation was similar in each one, a small army of older women in the shop, probably volunteers, and a younger woman in the back-room sorting out donations, clearly the manager.  At one of these deliveries I was guided through the rear door of the shop, to be met by a young lady emerging from behind a tall rack of clothing and fighting her way between boxes of other goods.  As she saw me, and the box in my hand, her eyes lit up.  "Oh lovely!" she exclaimed, "You've brought my new router!"  Knowing the business of the customer sending it, I replied "It could well be; it's nice to see you're expecting it."  By the time I'd finished my reply, she had come into full view and was beside me to sign for the delivery.  I realised that she was pregnant, and we shared the unintended humour of the verbal exchange with broad smiles as I thanked her and went on my way.

The week progressed, with the usual ups and downs, and waiting for work - comfortably at home.  Thursday lunchtime found me delivering to a small unit in Harlow.  I was met in goods-in by a well-built woman of mature years.  I told her I had six quite large boxes for them, and suggested that she might like me to put them on a pallet for her.  She sounded rather annoyed as she gestured to the piles of boxes behind her, and made a comment about having enough to deal with already, without another pallet-load.  Nevertheless, a pallet was brought out, and the boxes placed on it.  As she read the delivery note her attitude changed and she said with a smile, "I know a young woman upstairs who'll be very pleased with this lot."  She picked up my board and started to sign for the goods.  Usually I'm silent at this point in the routine, because I know how unexpectedly difficult I find it to sign my name if someone is talking to me.  On this occasion, however, something prompted me to quip, "That's my purpose in life - to make young ladies happy!" and I briefly related the story of the woman in the charity shop.  As she handed my board back, her face broke into broad laughter, and I drove off thinking, "... and the not so young!"

More excitement next week, on the other side of the 'workers'' bank holiday - I hope, like me, you're looking forward to a restful break.